the coastergirl diaries volume nine

i think soul coughing for this chapter. ruby vroom.

it seems to be, looking over the last few entires, that i may come across like coastergirl and my relationship was only about sex. i wanted to clarify that and maybe put it in perspective. we are/were both very sexual people, but even still two hours a day out of ten or twelve spent together ihardly qualifies as a relationship based on sex.

the irony is that sometimes we were so into our conversations that they'd carry right over into the naked time, if you will. imagine a woman on top of a man, gyrating away and still talking about the likelihood of a man's ability to accelerate his own evolution by mere willpower.

but she did make me writhe.

it is a fact in my relationships that when i reconsider them the things that matter most are the firsts. the first argument. the first sexual activity. the first lie told, the first time one of us was scared, the first time one of us supressed the urge to scream out in anger.

the only other acspect of a relationship when i use my hindsight goggles that's worth a damn is the lasts. the last handholding. the last i love you. the last cuddle. the last dinner shared. the last time you saw each other naked, etc.

the rest is filler for story books.

i do miss the conversations, though.

so, that said, let me tell you about the first time we went to detroit's ( a funny little twist if you know the real name).

detroit's was a little specialty pizza place/bar/family dining place run, ironically enough, out of canada. the manager was a drop zone junkie just bidding his time till the next flight lifted off. the bar manager was a film nerd who drank too much and spent all his tip money at night on the little dollar trivia machine at the end of the bar. and now our waiters. c. was a little raver boy who danced his way from table to table trying to get his customers to buy him a shot. poor old lou was a happy-go-lucky type who wanted to hug everyone when he got drunk and was directly instrumental in starting the local indie scene. elvis had been on road rules and later road rules/real world challenge and had these sideburns that dubbed him such by a random cuatomer. and t. was a silly, half shy half drunk standup comedy dj in love with the polyphonic spree. we only met c. the first night though.

i was making good money at the time and coastergirl had heard good things about the place and since we were going out to eat two or three times a day during this time we decided to check it out.

we didn't have time for coastergirl to shower if we wanted to beat rush hour so when i picked her up at work she took four pumps of vanilla latte syrup and put it in her palm (ghetto pomade she called it). she squished it into her hair and pulled the ends out. it sound like i'm talking about a little punk rock spike but it wasn't. it was just hair everywhere and glued there with twelve grams of fat and more carbohydrates than adkins allows you in a week. it was a mess. a beauitful mess only she could have pulled off.

we got in the car and she slipped in the digital underground cd she'd just bought. so we humpty danced our way across town to a place we'd never been before.

when we got there we sat ourselves and watched this trance dancer pop over and put menus down.

c: i'm your waiter tonight. would you care to start off by buying me a shot?
her: only if you show us your balls.
me: what is this mardis gras?
c: laughing
her: laughing
me: laughing
c: no, seriously, what can i get you?
her: a coke with a lemon. (she always drank those, now they have them in a can. it seems everything she did turned into a fad before too long. i don't know what up-and-coming trend magazine she subscribed to, but it was worth the money)
me: this is kind of odd, but could you just bring me a pitcher of water and a straw? i drink a lot of water.
c: i don't mind bringing you more.
her: you will after ten or fifteen minutes.
c: (laughing) cool...pitcher with straw and a coke with a lemon.

we didn't eat that night. i just told her old bible stories and aprised her of translation difficulties and she listened and argued back where appropriate. it was beauitful.

c. ended up filling my pitcher four times (throughout two pisses), and her coke twice (throughout eight pisses). women!

i left him sixty bucks on account of us begin there almost six hours and not oredering a thing to eat and we left. but not before buying him a shot. bongwater. and c. was our waiter from then on.

when we got home we sat in the car (i just realized i wrote home, what i meant was her house) outside talking for while until we saw lights pull in behind us.

her father started stumbling out and we got out to help him. you have to understand this man. he is very irish. and from chicago to boot, so it is not uncommon to catch him stumbling.

her: dad, are you drunk?
him:(swaggering) shhhh...don't tell your mother. i won this ( pulling out a plastic bottle of bacardie rum) in a dart contest at the bar. bob won a box of wine.
her: oh, jesus (laughing).
him: i'm going in now, you guys have fun.
me: see you (laughing).

he fiddled with the door a while then hobbled his way back to us.

him: i told your mother not to lock the door.
mom (from upstairs window): larry!
him: yes honey?
mom: what are you doing? the door's open.
oh, i knew that. see you guys later.
us: (laughing) bye.

i took her hand in mine and said goodnight. no hug. no kiss. just goodnight and went home.

later coastergirl told me she had asked her dad when she got in if he had fun.

him: no. i don't like that bob. that bob is trouble. that bob is a peice of crap.

you heard it. from the mouths of drunken irishmen comes truth.

2002-09-22 | 8:46 p.m.
0 comments so far